Sawed-Off Shotgun
by Seth da Hooded Bandit
Summary: Miscreants of the law, Lovino Vargas and Michelle Belrose, travel across the United States in an adventure of fame, fortune, and love. Inspired by Bonnie and Clyde. Seymano, SpaBel. Fiveshot. Rated M for Language.
1. One

**Author's Note: **I swear I am writing for my main story, just taking a little break.

Seymano/Romasey. Inspired by Bonnie and Clyde.

This story takes place in the 1930s in the United States, during the Great Depression, so there is some racism references, but it's pretty minor. Lots of language. I apologize for any inaccuracies.

In this story, Chell is pronounced like "shell".

* * *

**1935**

_This wasn't exactly Hell, not even close, and no matter how many times those damned officers told him that, he wouldn't believe it. The fools, the lot of em. _

_He'd been at gunpoint and imprisoned before, so this time, he was in a better state of mind. He even smiled, though he wasn't sure if he was more amused or pissed off._

_Either way, his fate was so clearly mapped out as if they had drawn it in the sand with a stick. _

_They wouldn't just put him down like a dog. Shooting was too common for someone of his bounty and worth. Nah, he was too infamous for something so lowly, the newspaper and their readers just wouldn't buy into all that. It would be like an anti-climatic end to a wondrous play. Stars were supposed to flicker out in style, right? That's what Michelle always said anyway. _

_Of course, if he did get too out of control, they'd have a bit of shoot out, and his lovely figure would look more like a target practice dummy than a criminal with a thirteen thousand dollar bounty on his head. But, he didn't worry about how he would be killed, it was apparent enough without any of the officers spelling it out for him. _

_The electric chair was the special seat in the house with his name on it. _

_He chuckled aloud, it would be one hell of a rush, and Michelle wouldn't have to worry about wondering if he would walk away from something like that. At a shooting, you could fake your death, but the electric chair...ha, no way in hell. _

_His giggling had caught the attention of one of the officers on patrol of the jail halls, and he peered through the grime-encrusted and gritty bars to see the man quivering in his fit of angry and frightened laughter. _

"_Mad man," the cop snorted, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. He prowled around his cell for a good thirty minutes, just to be sure that there wasn't anything significantly "broken" about the prisoner. _

_But Lovino Vargas wasn't broken, he was perfectly sane, and yet perfectly scared as well. _

"_Gilbert! Open it up," a voice sounded from down the hall. _

"_This one 'ere?" _

"_Yeah, we're taking him somewhere else," at once, another officer, one with a slightly more tan complexion stepped forward towards the cell, waiting for the other to unlock the door. Despite his nice appearance, the Italian could tell he was harsher and far more dangerous than the guard outside his cell. The officer who was originally outside his cell pulled out a key, shoving it into the lock and twisting it until it clicked. _

_He pondered getting up and trying to escape, but he figured that escape was pointless with two encroaching cops, and with so many officers on duty as well...it could be tricky without a clear escape path. So, instead, he remained where he was, seated in the dirt and hay of the nasty cell, until the two officers scooped him up, one under each arm. If it wasn't for their tight grips, he could have easily knocked them over and attempted escape; but, considering this sketchy ass prison, he wasn't sure that would be the best course of action. _

_Dragged along to another portion of the jail, he was thrown to a group of officers in a barn like room. Odd for a jail. He observed that the room had a wall with a pair of shackles for both the wrists and ankles on one side and a platform with an electric chair over on the opposite side. Lovino smirked in dread, this was the place he'd be breathing his last breath. _

_However, instead of going straight to the chair, he was pulled over to the other wall to be shackled up. _

"_Heh, the lot of you bastards wanna fight me like men? Or do you just wanna spit in my face before I'm kissing the dirt?" the criminal remarked bitterly, earning several grunts of indifference in return. The smirk on his face grew somewhat more real, finding their reactions amusing. _

_He was chained to the wall, blackened by former bloodstains that speckled the wood, and left to stand like a piece of meat on display in a butcher shop. _

_Eyeing their pistols, he figured that he'd be bloody like a slab of meat in a minute as well. _

"_Lovino Vargas," one of the officers began, the taller and yet wider man with glasses spat out his name condescendingly. _

_The criminal nearly growled, if he wanted to talk down to him he should talk down about his actions - the murders, the robberies, the whatever the hell else - but he should be petrified at speaking his full name. The cocky bastard. _

_The officer stayed cool and collected, not in any way afraid of this man (at least he wasn't showing it if he was), "At over three hundred and seventy-five acts of crime, did you expect to find yourself anywhere else?" _

"_Blow me, fuckin' bastard." _

"_I'm still surprised that you can hold up such a tough front without your little blackbird around. She's the only real reason you're so damn famous, right?" _

"_Go fuck yourself." _

_The officer only laughed, "I wouldn't be so rude to me, young man, I am the one who decides to shove your ass in that chair on the other side of the room." _

"_You'll do it anyway so shut the fuck up and get it done already, you damn bastard." _

"_Did I mention I'm also the one who gets to decide how your little blackbird's wings get pulled?" _

"_Wait...what?!" Lovino's eyes shot open. They had Michelle? He thought she escaped with Emma and Lars! "Where is she? Where are you keeping you, you son of a bitch?!" _

"_Not so far away, but who cares really?" The officer said with faux charm. _

"_Bottom line is," another spoke up, with a gruffer and harsher tone of voice, "let's just say that she's stuck in a room with two officers and has no way to defend herself from whatever they choose to do." _

"_The fuck-?! You'll rot in hell, you motherfuckers! Let her go!" _

"_The only way we'll do that is for you to give up the location of your hideout," the other officer retorted. _

_Lovino blinked, "The hideout...? What are you even talking abo-!" _

_The harsher officer struck him over the head with his nightstick, causing his head to throb painfully against the bone of his skull. He snarled, "Don't bother lying, because there's no way in hell you carry around over a hundred a fifty thousand dollars and all of your weapons on you." _

"_So I tell you where the hideout is, you run us dry of our cash and weapons, and she goes free?" _

"_And you die here." _

"_You bastards..." _

"_That's your deal, you talk, we put you in the chair, and she walks without a hair on her head harmed." _

"_What'll it be, Mr. Vargas? You or her?" _

_His mouth went dry, he couldn't bear the thought of his Michelle being defiled, but what was worth telling the officers where the hideout was? She'd travel back there, along with the others, and they'd be shot and killed without them even knowing what hit em. Shit..._

_What would she do without him? _

_How would he bear death without her by his side? _

_Letting out a sigh through his teeth, that sounded similar to that of a whistle, he shut his weary eyes and thought of her, his memories of her. _

_Four and a half years of partnership was far too short..._

* * *

**1930**

He was at a fresh ripe age of twenty two, seated in a bar in a nameless town in Texas. His business was his own; and, with his flashy clothes, fedora, and clean-cut look, he looked out of place amongst the rugged westerners. It also seemed like a man from a city-famous Italian mafia was easy to pick out, considering that the men who lived out here were mixes of pinks and reds of speckled American white. They lacked the lovely olive shading that was more obvious in a pureblood Italian immigrant.

Wary eyes were cast his way, and soon were dismissed. He supposed that the men preferred to dwell on the native drink than the newfound dealings.

The Italian was just making himself somewhat comfortable in his seat when a pretty little sight made him jolt in his shoes. Amidst the pale peach - and quite plain - waitresses, a lithe dark beauty that appeared behind the counter caught his attention. Her skin was coppery like the pennies in his pocket, her hair was a dark coffee brown and held up in a tight bun, and her eyes were like the richest maple syrup on a pile of pancakes. Despite her lighter skin tone, it was more than given that she was an African American of some sort. Odd in this part of the country, most were getting the hell away from the south and the west to find haven in the northeast. He ought to ask, but he warned himself of the repulsiveness of the question.

Instead, she was the one to speak first...though what she said was customary of her job, "Is there anything I can get you, sir?"

Noticing that most of the men were filing out of the little bar, for whatever reason, he smiled to her with a stroke of confidence. He was an Italian, and it wasn't right to be suffering from bouts of doubt, especially with these matters.

"Just a word, if you don't mind."

The girl, barely a woman she seemed like - but still enough to capture his attention, blinked her eyes a few times, shocked and confused by the request. Most men would merely bark demands for alcohol or make rude comments and gestures. The man who was seated at the bar, though, appeared to look friendly, she guessed.

Hesitant, and somewhat skittish, she approached him closer with a soft, "Yes, sir?" She grasped the counter tightly, worried that he may reach out and try to grab her without warning. Others had tried to before, a few of them had succeeded.

"Do you like your job?" he asked with a smooth tone. A simple question with a complex answer.

She bowed her head towards the counter, her mind swimming in the somewhat enigmatic air of the question. It took her several minutes, but she finally clicked her tongue and asked, "Is that a literal or rhetorical question?" A bitter laugh followed.

The rhetorical sense was easy, with the racism that was so heavily branded on the South, and Texas was no exception. However, literally...

"It's both," the Italian chirped, "You must really love your job to not join in with the Great Migration, yes?"

The girl quirked an eyebrow and replied, "And how do you know that's the only reason why I'm still down here?"

"It's not, eh? Why then?"

She huffed, somewhat annoyed that this man was essentially tiptoeing around straight up asking for her life's story, but still decided to oblige him, "I was born in New Orleans, but I moved out here with my family. Money troubles or something, I was too young to remember. My parents moved up to the big cities only about a month ago, with everyone else. My brother wanted to go too, but he had to stay behind to watch over my grandparents and myself, and I guess when I get old enough I can go to the cities to work. So, for now, I stay down here and work as a waitress," she frowned, "But Vicky's pushing for me to stay here permanently, saying that a lady shouldn't worry about a man's world." With another gracious sigh, she drawled, "So, what about you, Mr. Questions, have any story to call your own?"

He grinned, "I've been living in Little Italy of Manhattan for as long as I can remember, not likely that I lived anywhere else. Once third-in-line heir to my family's mafia, sharp with a pistol, once had enough cash to make me comfortable for the rest of my days."

"That so? How'd you lose all your money?"

"Investing badly, cracking down on spending, father finding that unworthy people don't need hands on his money, Great Depression, I guess you get the picture...?"

"Yeah, yeah. But you still have the nice suit?"

"I had nicer ones in the past, but I guess this is nice compared to this side of the country."

"And at this time, with this economy."

"True."

"So, if I may ask, what brings you to some no-named town in Texas? On a road trip?"

"Something like that...I guess."

"You guess?"

"I don't really know what I'm looking for exactly," he crossed his arms, completely honest.

"Why don't you just go home then, what about your family and the city?"

He smirked, "My father and grandfather don't exactly want me there anymore, I've been demoted down the lines of the mafia for my 'disgracefulness', and it's easy to say that I'm not going to gain anything by staying in New York City. Too many of our rival families don't know that I'm just a foot soldier, if anything, by now, so they'd just shoot me without any idea of how worthless I am. Just no point. Nothing keeps me there anymore."

"You don't miss it at all? Anything?"

"Not really, a bunch of starving homeless folks sleeping around in their own trash? Not the best place on earth to live. It was nice in the 20s, but now it's just...a place filled with hopeless and worthless people."

She appeared dispirited, "I always heard stories about how great it was, all the lights and sounds, the parties, the action...they said something was always happening..."

"Well, that may have been true in the 20s, but now...it's like a tumbleweed is more exciting than anything else there," slowly shattering the beautiful picture she had, he grumbled, "it's so dead, that I had to seek refuge out here."

She, surprisingly, was amused, "This is pretty much the deadest place there is in America though...aside from the Dust Bowl itself. Deadest place without all the dust storms."

"Even that's livelier," he remarked, and the two burst into fits of chuckles. By now, the bar was bare.

"Well, thanks for making this shift quite a bit more bearable," she smiled, leaning against the counter.

"Not a problem, thanks for making this part of the country worthwhile."

With a blush, she giggled, "You're welcome," she then asked, "does a name come with all that talking?"

"Certainly, m'lady. Lovino Vargas, at your service. Yours?"

"Michelle Belrose."

"Pleasure to meet you."

"Pleasure's all mine," there was a bit of pause, and he watched as she chewed over some thoughts undoubtedly swirling in her head, "So, you have no idea of what you're gonna do down here?"

Lovino smirked, "Well, not exactly 'no idea'..."

Michelle prodded, "I'm listening."

"I don't mind telling you this because you're...well, you...but, lets just say a man can raise a little hell with a few guns."

"You wanna tear up the town?" she looked shocked.

"Possibly, guns tend to be useful in those situations," he suddenly grew nervous, worried on her judgement, internally kicking himself for just letting it spill like nothing.

After a few minutes of thought, she laughed, "Sounds fun, though if you're gonna pick a fight with the law, can you do it in the next town over? I wouldn't want to be caught in the crossfire, but at least close enough to where I can go see it than read about it in the papers."

Lovino raised in eyebrows, "Really now? You like a little danger?"

"Beats having to serve nasty midwestern whites in a bar, the danger I get in this place isn't the danger I like. It's disgusting. My kinda danger is more of the cowboy types in the silent pictures, traveling across the country and having some fun."

"Well, if you can shoot, you're welcome to join," he extended an invitation.

"...Why don't you stick around? Have some drinks. Tell me more."

As time went on, and the two continued to meet, the formalities between them dwindled. Lovino told Michelle about how America made him sick at times.

"All these damn 'Americans' talk about is freedom, freedom, fucking freedom, and there is no freedom in this country, really. Unless, you're a white American-born man with money. That's not you, and that's not really even me, since I'd be classified as an Italian immigrant. I'd have to work in the factories if it wasn't for the mafia. And you," he looked over to his companion and a wave of sadness washed over both of them. He took her chin under a gentle index finger and sighed, "and you, my darling, I don't think America has any chance for you to be free. Was it even so long ago that you could have been a slave?"

"My grandparents were when they were younger. It's kind of amazing when you put it into perspective..."

"Exactly, and I'm tired of everyone blessing a land of the free when there really is no 'free'."

"Things change, Lov, things will get better. My brother and papa always told me that."

"Yeah, but when? Things haven't really changed a whole lot, and it's been 65 years since the Civil War ended. How long does a change have to take?"

"Wow...when you say it like that."

"Like I said, exactly. I think we need to take matters into our own hands."

"How so?"

"Almost everyone's poor as mites, right? Then we ought to help them, while we help ourselves."

"By shooting up towns and stealing?"

"How else can we steal in this day in age? Think about it Chell, we'll rob from the rich to give to the poor, just like Robin Hood and Maid Marian."

"Maid Marian wasn't a thief, though, just Robin Hood," Michelle giggled.

He bowed and extended a hand to her and smirked, "Well then, _mio caro_, why don't we rewrite the story?"

She hadn't accepted right away, but he respected her wishes and gave her the time to think upon his offer.

Weeks went by and the two grew closer.

Lovino had ditched his fancy suits for more rugged wear, though Michelle claimed that he shouldn't drop everything. She admitted to like a sharp-looking man.

Michelle, on the other hand, had easily dropped her hair from the bun into two pigtails. She had looked young before, but she only looked younger and more radiant with the change, according to Lovino. He even gave her red ribbons to adorn her pigtails to persuade her to immortalize the look.

It was easy to see that the pair were smitten, despite the looks that they drew from the people who knew of them. They simply didn't care, and it wouldn't matter sooner or later. They had been sharing Coca-Colas on the hood of his truck when Lovino first dared to kiss her. It had been two days later that Michelle finally claimed of wanting to join him on his expedition.

Just as long as he taught her how to shoot.

"The key is accuracy. You'll have to be able to aim fast and towards a place that'll do the right amount of damage," Lovino watched from his truck.

"You make it sound easy when I'm holding a rifle," Michelle fired back. She was standing about 20 feet away, holding up a older rifle that she was to use for target practice. Her targets were a few pans they had strung up on a wire rig, stolen from the once-excessive collection at the bar she worked at.

"We'll have different guns for different scenarios, I'm not going to expect you to rob a bank with a rifle."

"Then why do I have to learn how to fire correctly with this damn thing?! Can't I just practice with the shotgun again?"

"You'll never get better if you just use the shotgun. C'mon, Chell, you can do this."

"No I can't," she muttered.

"Imagine the pan is a serial killer who's already shot your grandmother and is about to shoot your grandfather!"

"What?!" she shot it at a pan, but from the lack of an impact sound, it was apparent she missed. She rounded on him, dropping the rifle on the ground and snapping, "What the hell was that?!"

"You let your shock and anger get the better of you. You gotta stay calm or else you won't shoot straight."

Groaning in defeat, she yelled, "You do the damn rifle shots, I can't work with this fucking gun!"

"And I probably can't either, since you slammed it on the ground."

"Go to hell!"

* * *

**Part One of ****Five. Thanks for Reading! **


	2. Two

**Author's Note: **I'm sorry this took so long to get done. Lots of little cutoffs for this one, just because it doesn't flow as well with the different portions as the last chapter.

More racial things, but I tried not to make anything too bad.

* * *

**1930**

"It's do or die now, okay baby? Last chance to back out if you don't think you're ready."

"You can't do this alone, Lov. I'm ready."

"Great."

A kick to the metal door and a clear clicking sound of guns whipping from hiding places brought part of the crowd inside the bank to a halt. Lovino bellowing a "Stay where you are! Hands in the air!" silenced the rest of them.

The former mafia gangster was armed with a pair of Colt revolvers, one that he obtained from his grandfather, one from his father. His lovely companion to his left was equipped with a shotgun, his very favorite in fact. The lovely Lupara was a dangerous one, so he had planned for her to only make use of the weapon if he was being threatened.

"Get on the ground, and if anyone tries to stand up, it'll be the last thing they do!"

He watched as citizens lowered themselves onto their knees, a bloodthirsty grin spreading across his face. The power rushing through his blood was glorious.

He turned and nudged at Michelle's arm, silently asking for her to watch his back as he stepped up towards the counter. His back was facing the people, but his love made quick to shield it with her body and the gun. The adrenaline running in her veins, though, really wasn't in a surge of crazed energy, it was in a crashing wave of fear. She could hold her face into a determined and threatening scowl to scare the citizens of the bank, but her nerves were causing the gun to subtly quiver in her hands. The terror she felt in this horrendous crime was overwhelming, and it wouldn't be long before she would be no longer able to keep it at bay.

She was attempting to watch everyone in the room at once, and her inexperience and worry was shown to easily be bent to an advantage of another.

One of the male hostages had picked himself up quickly, darted over to the duo from the other side of the room, crossed over quickly and grasped hold of Michelle, knocking her to the floor, trapping her underneath of him.

But not for more than three seconds.

Before he could even think whether to choose the gun, the girl, or her companion, Lovino pivoted to plant a harsh bullet in his brain, and he fell to the ground in a heap, dead. Others who had been attempting to stand up, likely either to escape or to help him, quickly got back down on their knees - raising their hands back up in order to increase their chances of being able to walk out of this bank alive.

He held one of the handguns, along with his new stash of stolen cash, in one hand towards their unwilling audience, placing the other revolver in his pocket as he made a quick sweep check over the crowd. His now free hand was used to help pick his little Michelle off the floor, and to her surprise, spun her into his chest protectively.

"Listen up, you pieces of shit," Lovino snarled, gripping onto her shoulder, pointing the gun in front of himself and her. The Lupara hung in her nervous fingers, forgotten weight in her shock and in listening to her Italian love speak. Some of the people looked up towards him, some didn't dare, but they were listening all the same. "You can fuck around with me all you want to," he then pointed the gun at Michelle, not trying to threaten her or display her as a hostage among hostages, but just to point at her for a second, "but if you try to fuck with her, then you little _cagnas_ have made your death wish." He pointed the gun back at the crowd and hissed, "Go tell the police what you've seen today, the reporters, the newspapers. Tell them if you dare, but remember what the fuck I just said."

He slowly started backing away, keeping the gun fixated on the crying and frightened folk, and walked backwards out the open door. He shot the gun at the ceiling three times before he released Michelle, and called for her to run to the car.

The two sped off and jumped in his truck, the female of the pair watching the people pottering out of the bank and disappearing behind the dusty clouds the wheels kicked up as Lovino drove away as fast as he could.

* * *

It had been a few weeks since then. They had gained two new members, a brother and sister pair of Dutch origins, Emma and Lars; and, now Lovino had been talking about inviting his brother and a close friend of his to join the group as well. They had robbed another bank, seeing as their first robbery had made the papers. However, Michelle was to stay behind this time, and the other two were invited to go in her place.

She felt betrayed.

She had joined Lovino because she had wanted to feel equal. Now she felt just right stuck in her labels and inequality once again. She was seated on her and Lovino's bed, up in the loft above the main floor to the hideout, silently crying.

Her back was to the ladder that led up to the loft, and she bided her time by pulling out the band and ribbon of one of her pigtails and weaving her fingers through her hair to separate it.

She jolted at the Italian accent dripping on the words behind her, "Chell, you not gonna eat any-" but they halted before she could even get comfortable hearing them. A dip on the bed was felt behind her, and it was clear that Lovino could sense something was wrong before a full sentence could come out of his mouth. Warm olive hands grasped cocoa-copper shoulders, and a face leaned in to press against Michelle's neck. "What's the matter?" His voice dipped deeper, in worry, but it still held that fiery pitch that made speaking to him at first a little intimidating.

"Lov, you brought those other two along because I screwed up at the bank, right?"

"What...? No,_ tesoro_, why would you think that? Why did you think you screwed up?"

"I couldn't protect you...you had to protect me the whole damn time we were there..."

"A man is supposed to protect his sweetheart, _tesoro_," he was reaching to cup her face, but Michelle slapped his hand away before he could rest it in one spot.

"It's the concept in itself! You told me that we would be playing Robin Hood and Maid Marian, and so far I haven't been a very good Maid Marian. Staying back from the robbery proved that much," she huffed.

"Chell, I didn't tell you to stay behind because of what happened at the bank."

"Then why?"

"I asked Emma to wait in the truck a ways away, and I only did the robbery with Lars. I wanted to see how the public would eat it."

"Wait...what?"

"You remember the papers whenever we did our first robbery? The headlines were filled with drama, and the writers were all about how a pair of lovers were robbing a bank and finding it romantic. Me and Lars's gig was called a simple robbery."

"The newspapers want to see us doing the crimes…making it into a romantic show?"

"More than that...a heroic show. When I said what I said, they thought I was some sorta hero rescuing the damsel in distress."

Michelle slowly started to smile, "So, does this mean I'm back to robbing again?"

"Well, maybe we ought to teach you a few more lessons before we head back, but certainly. I'm liking this fame that we have with the press, and only with one robbery. It's exhilarating," he leaned in to her neck.

"We'll give them the show of a lifetime," she leaned in to meet him, more-so to turn her head and kiss him passionately. "But this isn't about the fame, right? This is about us humiliating those damn whites."

"Exactly," and he kissed on that promise.

* * *

"Get the fucking thing open, old man!" he spat, pointing a pistol at him and gesturing to the bag gripped in his fist. "Don't take but two seconds!"

Emma called from the other side of the convenience store called, "The hell's taking the bastard so long?!"

"Just shoot him already!" Lars added, pointing his gun at a couple huddled together in the corner with the cold drinks.

The man behind the counter was trembling, too frightened for his hands to be of any use to him. The cash register was one of those unlockable ones that you had to actually open with a key. The man was stuck between calling the police, grabbing the gun under the counter, and getting his keyring in order to do what he was commanded. Paralyzed.

Suddenly, Michelle, who had been watching for the police, stepped onto the counter. Armed with a wooden baseball bat, she clocked the old man in the head and he fell to the floor.

She looked down at Lovino and said, "This is taking too long, we need to go."

"The whole point of this was to not leave fingerprints, Chell."

"Then lets get the shit we need and go before the police arrive," she bent down to pluck up the keyring and set in on the counter. Lovino had assumed that she was planning on popping the box for them, but instead turned to swing the bat at the glass safe behind her, filled to the top with cigarettes.

"Lov, get what we need from all this. Lars!" she called to the Dutchman across the room and ordered, "Get us a couple six packs for the road, Emma, c'mere."

Lovino watched with amazement as his Michelle directed the group, easily picking out which key opened the cash register and filling Emma's bag with the money.

"Lets go babe," Lovino called to her once they were finished, putting his arm around her as Emma and Lars watched carefully for the law. The Italian eyed the several people who were still in the store, "Tell them about us, you bastards. I dare you." He smirked, and dipped Michelle down, giving her a wild kiss. A camera went off somewhere.

Perfect.

* * *

"What in the hell is wrong with you?! What in God's name drove you to do the shit that you're doin'?!"

"Nothing is wrong with me! My actions are of my own conscience!"

"Oh, so you hangin' out with that damn mafia boy had nothin' to do with this? Are you trying to get yourself killed Michelle?!"

The girl in question was standing square with her older brother, Victor Belrose. He couldn't believe that his tiny little sister was defiantly defying him! The nerve of the brat!

"No, but it beats hanging around here doing nothing!"

"You're not a damn civil rights movement leader, and them up in Harlem won't respect you for nothin'! You're just a bitch with a gun sleepin' with a white boy!" Aiming to hurt her pride.

It did hurt, of course it did, but Michelle had been hurt before, "You bastard! Don't you talk about him that way! I'm not sleeping with him! And I actually like what I'm doing, so shut up about me being stupid! The newspapers all talk about me and Lov! We're robbing the whites clean of their money like it's nothing! We're humiliating them!"

"Hell no you aren't! You're _entertainin__' _them, and if they aren't entertained then you're just pissin' them off! You live in the South, Michelle Belrose! The Klan's gonna be after you like nobody's business!"

"You're just scared for me! I have guns and baseball bats! Let them come!" Her glare was fierce and upholding like stone, but within, she felt herself mentally quivering with the mentioning of the Klan. Nothing in the world scared her quite like them.

"I guarantee that a little gun toting brat with ribbons doesn't leave and impressive legacy. What she leaves her own damn body hangin' from a tree by a rope!"

"God loves a violent vindicator more than a just mouse of a man!"

Victor raised his hand to slap her, but stopped himself before he turned violent, such as how she was speaking, "You know nothin' of God's love!"

She huffed, pivoted, and turned to storm out of the house, "I'd rather be wrong and have a reason to fight for my people, coward."

* * *

"He just worries about you, Chell," Lovino said, curling his fingers around her arms. The two were resting together in the hideout, on their bed.

"He did a pretty bad job of showing that, though. All he did was yell," she sighed, wrapping her arm around his neck and pressing her chest up against his.

"Well that was rude. Let me guess, he's not a fan of me," he raised an eyebrow, "and I'm gonna guess he's worried about you being lynched."

"Wow, were you there?" she giggled, and he pressed several kisses to her lips, cheek, and neck. She then murmured, "He thinks we're sleeping together."

"We already do that."

"Lov, you know what I mean."

"Sorry, I come from a long line of siesta-lovers." Laughter was exchanged again, and this time Michelle was the one to shower the kisses. While she still couldn't see his face, he whispered, "I was kinda hoping that we would get further along in this robbing business before the rumors of us being illicit lovers would get passed around. So far, most of everything the papers say is true. How long will we tell the truth before we have to start making the truth?"

That caught her attention, she looked up, turned to support herself with her elbows pressed to the bed, "What are you suggesting?"

"Was I suggesting something?"

"The way you said that...it's almost as if you were willing to..."

"Are you not willing? I find the idea very attractive."

"Lov...it's attractive, sure, but are you just saying that because of the papers...?"

"No, of course not, Chell," he cupped her cheek with his palm, fingering some hair from her face. His bright green eyes met her warm brown ones.

She smiled, "I'd definitely do it, because it's with you." Saying that Lovino's face turned quite red would be a gigantic understatement, to which Michelle wailed, "Why are you the one who's embarrassed? If anything it should be me! You started this!"

"I'm not embarrassed, I'm just...happy," he looked away for a moment. He could really only hold his confidence with a matter like this for only so long.

"You look funny when you're happy," she teased.

He quickly rolled her over with him, he laying on top of her, "Do I look funny now?"

Michelle blushed, and the two proceeded to make sweet love for the rest of the afternoon.

* * *

**1931**

"Loooooviiiinooooooo!" a pair of cheerful voices called from the truck. A dark haired man with dark olive skin peered his head out from the drivers side, while an auburn haired pale olive man appeared from the passenger side.

The Italian in question prayed that these two loudmouths wouldn't force them to change their hideout.

The truck was parked in the back, as instructed, and they duo within hopped out to greet their friend and meet the rest of the gang.

The taller and older man, who had been driving, threw himself on Lovino and hugged him tight around the neck. He wailed in happiness, "Oh it feels as if it's been so long, _mi amigo!_"

"Alright then, off! Off!"

The Spaniard broke away, and immediatley made eye contact with Emma. He reached out and took her hand, raising it to his lips so that he could kiss the back of her palm. He smiled, "A fine pleasure to make your acquaintance, my lady. I am Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, at your service."

Emma blushed, though she seemed confused, looking over at Lovino. Lars was practically fuming behind her.

The smaller and lighter man gave Lovino a hug too and said, "I've missed you, _fratello_!" However, once he parted from the hug, he spoke directly to his brother, lowly and only in Italian, "_Pap__à è __stato preoccupato per te._"

At that, Lovino snorted, "_Non me ne frega un cazzo se lo fa__._"

His brother seem dispirited by the answer, but perked up when he noticed Michelle standing near Lovino. He bowed to her politely, "You must be Michelle, _si_? Lovino thinks very highly of you."

Michelle gave a small blush and replied, "He tells me of you, as well, Feliciano."

Antonio looked over at her and protested, "That one is Michelle? Oh she's cute! I guess you did say that she was dark too…" looking back at the woman he had been charmed with, he asked, "…then who is this one?"

She giggled, "I'm Emma Tunneson, pleasure to meet you as well."

He kissed her hand again, "Oh you just warm my heart right up, Miss Tunneson."

Lars finally cut in, smacking the Spaniard's hand off of Emma's, "And I'm afraid that's enough, sir."

Antonio's lip curled in a pout, "And who are you supposed to be? This lady's boyfriend?"

"Her older brother, and my sister is not your toy to just play with."

"Ah…I see…"

Lovino groaned, closing his eyes away from Antonio, but opened them back up whenever Michelle stroked the back of his hand gently, leaning up to give him a kiss.

* * *

That night, the six membered gang sat around the table under the lamp light. A map was spread out in the center.

"So, I suppose it's a good time to discuss the plans for the next couple of hits."

"Where are we attacking next?"

"This town here," a finger pressed itself to the paper, "and this will be more than just some simple robbery."

"Eh? How so?"

"Let's just say," eyes all went in the direction of Michelle and Lovino, "we have some fans that we need to impress."

* * *

**Part Two of Five. Thanks for reading! **


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